As Far As First Meetings Go
by The Killer Bunny
Summary: People always tell you to make a good impression. As far as first meetings go, for Shiro and Mephisto, their first impression was one neither of them would ever forget.


In which Miyavilurver and I are currently very obsessed with Blue Exorcist and couldn't resist roleplaying some MephistoxShiro. Originally we wanted to write a short PWP but... this came out instead, lol.

Warnings: Ridiculous amount of sexual tension, blood, & dubious consent.

Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review!

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**As Far As First Meetings Go...**

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The hierarchy of the Order was an extensive, complicated system. It seemed so simple when put down on paper, but in reality, the subtle politics tied to the older generations of the Vatican and their successors ruled despite the fancy titles given to those they called exorcists.

As it was, in the Japanese branch of the True Cross Order, Mephisto found himself at a position of considerable power due to his own heritage and the influence he'd gathered throughout many centuries. Nevertheless, the purple-haired demon often paid little concern to the matters of the Order, unless they had something to do with his school. It was because of this, as well as to his own lack of interest, that he hadn't gotten around to personally meeting their latest Paladin.

But now… the opportunity had fallen straight into his lap. Shiro Fujimoto was taking up a teaching post at the True Cross Academy. Mephisto felt a delighted smirk curve at his lips upon first hearing the news.

The gleam of interest remained in his eyes throughout the entirety of the staff meeting he decided to partake in at the last minute. Though he often preferred to leave these sorts of errands to his subordinates to deal with, today he made a special exception. Those who were used to his absence were surprised, though not overly so, at his sudden appearance.

Unable to help himself, he made a grand speech welcoming the new year. His gaze darted through the crowd, lingering on a few faces briefly, but ultimately, he met the eyes of the man he'd been looking for. Despite this being their first meeting, Mephisto had heard enough of the man to recognize him on sight.

_Just another one of the Order's dogs… _Mephisto thought with a slight smirk as he took in that blank, soldier-like expression. _What insipid task have they sent you here for? Surely not for little old me?_

The warm anticipation that came from the prospect of a challenge settled in his gut. Mephisto bowed with all the theatricality that he could muster and stepped aside, allowing his staff to handle the matters they were meant to do.

He spent the reminder of the meeting off to the side, lounging with his legs propped up against the table and a cup of tea in his hands. He kept his gaze to himself and tuned everyone out purposely, ignoring any look thrown his way.

Finally, the meeting came to an end. The crowd got up to leave, and Mephisto took his time setting his cup and saucer down on the table. Without looking up, he brought his hands together as if he was clapping and brought them up to his mouth.

"Fujimoto-kun. I'd like to have a word with you before you retire," he murmured quietly. Then, as he let go of his hands, a small flash of pink smoke burst and tiny bat-like creature appeared. It flew down the rows of chairs, past the dwindling crowd of people, until it reached its target to deliver the message.

Mephisto leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and intertwined his gloved fingers before him as he waited expectantly with his eyes closed.

Shiro Fujimoto felt a fluttering against his ear accompanied by the strange vibrato of a voice. He reached up and caught the small creature in his fist. He glanced towards the flamboyant-looking demon, feeling the creature disintegrating in his tight grip. Indeed, he'd come to the very important Academy not only to teach but to acquaint himself with its headmaster.

So he hung back, bidding farewell to the other staff members that had introduced themselves to him. Eventually, as the last couple people left the room, Shiro walked down the table until he was standing at least three feet away from the demon. His eyes were narrowed and his body tense and on guard.

"Pheles." He spoke without much emotion. Cold professionalism was all that underlined his tone. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Shiro opened his fist, allowing the black mist that remained of the tiny creature to float in the air and dissipate.

Mephisto let out a quiet hum as he slowly peered up at the grey-haired man. His eyes dragged across the other's stiff body, the rigid set of his shoulders, until they settled on the other's eyes. He peered past the exorcist's glasses and smiled thinly, the wrinkles at the corner of his lips spelling little of his intent. "No need to be so intimidated. I was merely interested in sharing a few words with you. It is my duty as the principal to get to know my staff, is it not?"

"It is." Shiro responded simply and a small smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "And you're free to. However, I assure you. I'm not the least bit intimidated by you."

"Oh?" Mephisto's lips pursed around the word, amused. "I suppose a man in your position has little to fear, but it would be unwise to be so overconfident. Better men than you have fallen due to their egos. Not exactly an attitude a teacher should portray, wouldn't you agree?"

"There isn't a student to be seen, and so my role as teacher has yet to take effect." Shiro didn't shift his alert stance an inch. "My ego isn't baseless and neither is my confidence. I am where I am for a reason. Now, Pheles, is witty banter all you wanted from me? Or am I here for a deeper purpose?"

"That _is_ the question, isn't it?" Mephisto flashed the white, pointed fangs of his teeth. Then, his hands slid away from each other. In a slow, lazy movement, Mephisto rotated his wrist making a slight, invisible circle in the air with his index finger. At the end of the third whirl, he snapped his fingers, and the classroom melted away from their sight within moments.

Silence. Darkness. The tables and chairs were nowhere to be seen. The windows and doors were gone. Mephisto had disappeared.

"I am very curious individual as you may have heard. Few things escape my grasp, so I have a fair idea of what has brought you under my radar. But I would like to hear it from your own mouth. So tell, Shiro Fujimoto, what exactly has brought you to my school?"

Mephisto's voice was deep, smooth, like heated liquid chocolate falling on a blind person's skin. His breath lingered on the back of Shiro's neck.

Shiro's spine straightened and his muscles stiffened as his surroundings disappeared. He slapped a hand over the back of his neck as he felt the breath there and turned quickly, but he saw nothing aside from the same darkness that currently encompassed his vision. His mouth settled into a scowl as he glared into the abyss. Surely this demon, no matter his nature, wouldn't kill someone so important when his life so readily depended on the Order. This was just an intimidation tactic.

"My reasons are my own," he replied stubbornly. "I'm not here to kill you, if that's what you're wondering. Is that enough for you? Or are you going to continue with these pointless illusions?"

"Pointless?" Mephisto's voice curled around them. There was no particular distinction indicating where it came from. "There is little I do that I consider pointless," the demon said.

"For example—"

Bright light, a spark of green flames, burst forth from the darkness somewhere to Shiro's left.

"I've found that the human senses are dull compared to those of demons, and they grow duller when overwhelmed with distractions." To emphasize his point, Mephisto chose to materialize himself just then, truly showing up behind Shiro this time. He put a hand on the other's waist, lightly, his fingers pressing against the thick belt of the exorcist's uniform. They slid around to linger over the leather pouches hiding the weapons that worked against his own kind.

"What do you think? Do you believe I'm wrong?" he asked, chuckling slightly.

Shiro's eyes were immediately attracted to the green flames but the moment the word "distractions" came to his ears, he was acutely aware of a presence behind him. The hand at his waist was pronounced and Shiro reached down to grab it, moving it away from the pouches.

"I don't." Shiro turned his head to eye Mephisto from the side. "But keep using your hocus pocus and soon, I'll adapt." There was an underlining threat to his tone as his fingers tightened around the demon's hand.

Mephisto laughed.

"Ah, yes! That is the beauty of humans, isn't it? That ego. That desire to persevere against all odds. You are all very _adaptable_." Mephisto stepped forward and pressed himself against the man's back, until the smooth, thick fabric of his jacket was pressed flush against the rough wrinkles of the exorcist's well-worn uniform.

Shiro flashed a scowl and pushed Mephisto's hand away, stepping forward and turning to put some distance between him and the demon. "I'm afraid I'm not seeing the humor in this." His back was still hot. "Mind explaining?"

Mephisto gifted him a minor, careless shrug. "As I said, this is merely something to satisfy my own curiosity. After all, what kind of person is Shiro Fujimoto? What exactly has brought you here? These are answers the public is dying to know." He snickered slightly.

"Care to know what I've found out?"

"Can't say I'm not curious of your findings." Shiro gave a humorless smile. "Do tell."

"I'd love to." A knowing smirk pulled at Mephisto's lips. "You are remarkably easy to read, Fujimoto-kun. No matter how much you try to hide yourself under your cold demeanor and the folds of your uniform, you are merely a man. " Luminous green eyes peered across the short distance. They settled on Shiro's face, taking in set, rigid jawline, the thick crosses hanging from his glasses, a faint outline barely visible in the darkness, aided only by the faint light of the nearby flames. "A faithless one at that. How very… common."

Shiro's smile faded and he was left glaring at the demon in front of him. His last comment was still rattling around in his mind and he couldn't even deny it. With the amount of death he's seen, with the destruction and proof of evil in the world, it wasn't easy to keep faith. The crosses and idols that surrounded him daily seemed like pretty lies. There were times when he'd sit in his monastery, crucifix in hand and reading the scriptures and all he could think was the same thing.

_What a load of crap._

"How observant of you." Shiro's voice was like ice, the professionalism an afterthought now. "But why should my faith matter to you? I can still do my job as an exorcist quite well." The threat was more pronounced in his words than before and he didn't even bother to smile.

"Yes, quite," Mephisto said dismissively. "As can many others of your brethren. It matters little to me, indeed." The demon's gaze remained steady, but his lips twitched as he spoke next. "I'm much more interested in what makes a man like you worthy of your title. Your background is unremarkable. Your personality less so. So what makes you so special? Your strength?" A low, ridiculing chuckle escaped him. "Your obedience?"

Shiro's expression twitched and his hand moved to his belt. "How about I show you myself? You look like a man who learns through example." He wasn't going to kill him. He wasn't supposed to kill him.

But this demon was getting on his nerves.

Mephisto's eyebrow rose, unimpressed.

"Well, they certainly didn't pick you for your intelligence, that's for sure."

Shiro let out a low laugh, his smirk almost akin to a grimace. "Maybe not. But I know what you are, Pheles. You may be strong but you're a demon like any other. So what makes you so special, hm?" He repeated his words almost mockingly.

"You're not the only one that can read people." Shiro took out a handgun from inside his coat and pointed it at Mephisto. His jaw was set as was his resolve. "So far, I don't like what I see."

"Dear me. What was the Vatican thinking?" the demon murmured in reply, glancing down at the gun unflinchingly. "I expected a challenge, not an amateur who knows little more than one of my own toys." Mephisto let out a sigh before murmuring familiar words.

"_Eins, __Zwei, __Drei.__"_

His fingers snapped and the darkness disappeared in an instant. Color replaced it in excess. Bright pinks and purples surrounded them, the walls and furniture matching Mephisto's outfit to a tee. The two of them found themselves in a child's oversized playroom. On the far left, ginormous animated teddy bears sat across from each other, drinking tea being served from oversized tea pots. On the far right, tiny robots were fighting each other to the death. In the center, Shiro found himself standing in front of a long wooden table. Mephisto's gloved fingers were wrapped around the handle of his umbrella, and the sharp metal tip of it was now pointed at Shiro's neck.

"I'll advice you to know your place, exorcist. I am no ordinary demon and you are not nearly competent enough to tangle with the likes of me."

Shiro blinked and was immediately blinded by the bright pastel colors that so readily replaced the sinister darkness that had encompassed them thus far. His hands felt lighter and when he opened them, he was startled to find his weapon gone. His jaw clenched, and as he felt the sharp implement at his neck, he tilted his head back, his gaze locking on and glaring at the demon before him.

"I'm no amateur." Shiro growled, and with quick, fluid, and very practiced movements, he reached an arm up, grabbing the umbrella and twisting it away. Meanwhile, his other hand had already dived into a pouch, pulling out a small bottle. The lid was flicked off with his thumb and Shiro splashed the holy water into Mephisto's face.

But the water merely flew into an arc and fell straight into the floor.

"Perhaps you haven't fully realized it yet, but here, we are under my rules." Mephisto seemingly materialized behind Shiro again. He was sitting on the edge of the table, his long legs dangling on each side of the exorcist. He was pressed against his back again, loosely, with his arms coiled around the man's waist. His hand lingered on the space where Shiro's belt had been.

"You will forgive me for getting rid of this. It was getting in the way," the demon drawled.

Shiro felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His looked down to find the familiar weight of his belt gone and replaced by long slender fingers belonging to the demon's hands. Was this a dream? Mephisto had to have put him in some sort of trance and he'd barely even noticed.

For the first time, Shiro began to understand the gravity of his situation.

Shiro narrowed his eyes as he turned his head to look at the demon behind him. "You're very touchy, aren't you?" he asked in a low grousing voice.

"Hmm, am I?" Mephisto chuckled slightly. The words seem to have prompted him as the hand that had been resting on the middle of the exorcist's stomach was now sliding up slowly, tracing over the thick fabric and skirting around the sea of buttons. "Do pardon my manners. I am usually much more well-behaved."

Shiro stared at the offending hand with a grimace, watching it dance up his chest like Mephisto was the most relaxed being in the universe. And he was, Shiro recognized. He was exactly where the demon wanted him. Unarmed and helpless. The newly appointed paladin knew that fighting blindly would just end in failure. But Mephisto wasn't going to kill him. So what was the point of all this then? To teach him? Teach him what?

His place.

Of course. Mephisto had said it before. Shiro scowled as he realized that this was a battle of dominance. A battle that he had most undoubtedly lost.

"You don't strike me as well-behaved at all, Pheles." Shiro pushed the hand off his chest as if he was nudging off an annoying bug. However, the fight was over. He knew that much. It was now time to play along. Shiro turned and placed his hands on the table on either side of Mephisto's legs. "So now that you have me here, under your roof, under your… _rules,_" the paladin repeated the word with a raised eyebrow, looking directly into the demon's eyes, "what do you plan to do?"

Mephisto's eyes danced, the green orbs sparkling in amusement at the other's daring; the understanding flashing behind his spectacles; the steady, cautious heartbeat that was clearly audible to his demonic hearing. "Fuhahaha, this is unexpected!" He threw his head back and laughed. The top hat that had been resting faithfully on his head slipped off with a soft thud as it hit the table.

"Oh, yes, I _do_ love you humans." He grinned, flashing his fanged teeth as he looked back at Shiro. The long curl that had been hidden under his hat seemed to bounce in excitement. Mephisto placed one of his gloved hands on top of the exorcist's and leaned into his face until their noses were barely a breath apart. "Adaptable. Fun. You're growing more interesting by the second. So, I'll propose something to you, Shiro Fujimoto. Let's gamble."

Shiro didn't move back an inch. He met Mephisto's gaze unflinchingly and his hand rested still under the demon's gloved one. He smirked. "I do like a good gamble." His voice was light with a fake amusement. "Let's hear the terms, then."

"Excellent. Let's see, then. I'm sure you're dying to get back to your quarters, lots of planning to do, mission reports to catch up on. _So_," Mephisto's mouth curled around the word and he let it linger in the air between them as a completely devilish smile spread across his face, "I'll have you indulge me to a game I've been dying to try out. If you win, you're at liberty to report my actions to the Vatican. That is why you're here, is it not? To investigate me? They're still peeved at me for that incident last month, so they've sent you here to gather charges that will gain me more than a slap on the wrist."

"Something like that." Shiro gave a wry humorless smile. That particular incident had caused quite the chaos. It seemed like Mephisto was well aware of what he'd done and knew he'd gotten off more than easy. "What's the game?" He pushed the issue forward, leaving specifics in the vague general area where they belonged.

Mephisto's eyelids lowered like a guillotine until his gaze looked pleased, dangerous. "Tell me," the demon murmured, speaking in a low voice now, "have you ever heard of a game by the name of 'Chicken'?"

"I'm familiar with it. What man isn't?" Shiro met his gaze fearlessly, paying no attention to the way the demon's lowered voice caused goose bumps to rise on his arms.

This response caused Mephisto's eyes to nearly glow. The green orbs stared straight into Shiro's eyes piercingly, as if reading his soul. "That does make things easier. Then, will you indulge me? A demon such as I loves nothing more than a good game."

Shiro stared into the green color brazenly. "That's one thing we have in common," he replied smoothly. "But you haven't told me all the terms. Call me a cautious man but I have to know what I'm betting here." His smirk widened. "Though we both know this isn't going to happen, what happens if you win?"

Unable to resist it any longer, Mephisto let out another bark of laughter. "Haha!_ Very good!_"It was much more sinister than before, the catch at the back of his throat eerie and promising. The demon's hand suddenly clenched, fingers curling tightly around Shiro's hand. "But we'll see soon whether or not that confidence is baseless. Yes, as for my terms… I think I'll like for you to extend your post at my school, Fujimoto-kun. For as long as I wish it."

Shiro glanced away from Mephisto's eyes for a single moment in time to see the fabric of the gloves straining as the fingers tightly clenched his hand. He met the demon's gaze again. "I accept." He didn't move back or closer. He merely remained. "With all the fine print that's surely included."

_Foolish, _Mephisto thought, but it was delight that curled in his stomach, not scorn. "Excellent. In that case…" The demon leaned forward, breaching the distance between them, his breath hot. Foreign words were whispered into Shiro's ear. "_Eins. Zwei. Drei._"

Within seconds, Shiro had his belt back, snug around his waist. Mephisto, on the other hand, had slipped away. With an acrobatic flip, the demon gracefully landed on his feet, the imperial purple of his bright leather boots making a stark contrast as they stepped over the center of the long wooden table. In a single, practiced movement, he swiftly undid the clasp on his neck before flicking away his cape with a flourish. It vanished with a cloud of pink smoke before it hit the ground.

"You'll see that your equipment has been returned to you," the demon comment airily. With a snap of his fingers, the hat that had fallen on the table earlier vanished. "As agreed to, the game we'll play today is one of endurance. Whoever yields first," Mephisto flashed a sharp smile, "is the loser." His eyes roved over Shiro's body then, slowly, considering. "Finally, as part of my generous nature, I'll let you be the one to begin. What will you do, Fujimoto-kun? How will you stop me from taking what I want?"

Shiro stood straight and gripped the belt at his waist. He watched Mephisto's movements as he hopped up onto the table himself. "How kind of you," he said dryly as he took inventory, sticking his fingers in each pouch. He had three bottles of holy water left, not counting the puddle he'd left on the floor. A dagger was at his right hip along with the prayer beads he used during chanting. However, the beads would be useless. He didn't know Mephisto's fatal verse, and either way, killing wasn't the name of the game.

Not this time.

Now there was the question of whether or not he should start off slow. Surely that was more fun and Mephisto had already shown a desire for entertainment. They had already danced around each other and Mephisto had run circles around him up until now. If he didn't want to do this slow, Shiro wouldn't have gotten his belt back.

The paladin unsheathed his knife and pulled out a bottle of holy water. He poured just a bit over the blade, using less than half the bottle which he replaced in his pouch as he strolled across the table towards the demon. In a fluid motion, he ran the blade under Mephisto's right jawline. He teased the skin, barely splitting it, though it hissed from the holy water and a thin drop of blood slid down the blade. Shiro stared into Mephisto's eyes the entire time.

"Mmm…" Mephisto let out a quiet, indecipherable noise. His expression remained calm. "Tickles," he said, smirking slightly. With Shiro so close now, he wasted no time in reaching over. Gloved fingers boldly began to undo the buttons of Shiro's coat.

Shiro didn't waste much time in planning out his next movements. What Mephisto wanted seemed obvious now. He'd had his suspicions but as his coat buttons were undone, Mephisto's smirk seemed to confirm his thoughts. Shiro didn't pull away. Instead, he slid the demon's jacket sleeve up from his right hand and sliced the blade through the fabric of the shirt at his wrist, deeper into the flesh. The crimson shirt was quickly stained a deeper, darker color and the hissing of the holy water grew louder as he pressed the dagger deeper into the wound.

"Ah…" Mephisto let an eye slid shut, but his expression barely twitched and his movements didn't stop. Instead, he just picked up his pace. Then, with his left hand, he reached up and snatched the exorcist pendant off of Shiro's breast pocket. As his fingers met the constraining belt, the last item holding the coat closed together, Mephisto paused, felt his blood pool down his forearm and onto the sharp blade.

"It wouldn't be courteous of me to leave you without your advantage," he murmured, grinning devilishly. As he undid the buckle of Shiro's belt one-handedly, Mephisto stuck the sharp end of the pendant forward, piercing through the leather and the fabric of the exorcist's coat.

Shiro's breath hitched as he felt the sharp implement pierce his side. His muscles immediately grew taut, tightening around the intruding object. He could feel his adrenaline start to pick up to numb the pain so he continued, paying it no mind as he forced a slightly shaking exhale through his teeth.

The blade in his hand twisted and he moved it perpendicular across the wound he'd made down Mephisto's arm. A bloody cross sizzled on the demon's forearm and his hand gripped his wrist just a bit tighter. His thumb inched forward to the center of the wound and he pressed down roughly.

Mephisto's muscles tensed visibly. His jaw clenched but the movement flowed smoothly to maintain his grin. "As ever striving to be the pious man, hmm?" He tapped the exorcist pendant twice with one finger, first lightly, and then with force, his grin broadening as he felt the thick needle slide in deeper. "No need to fool me, _Reverend_."

All at once, Mephisto's slow, catlike actions became as quick as a cheetah's. He grabbed Shiro's wrist—the arm holding the holy dagger—with considerable strength and he pulled it up and away from his body, holding it up next to Shiro's head. His right forearm throbbed under the exorcist's touch, the thumb pressing into the bloody cross etched into his skin.

"Though one does have to wonder who you _are _trying to fool," the demon murmured. "Tell me, why do you keep clinging on to your faith when so many others in your place abandon it? Why surround yourself with these senseless reminders of a god you no longer believe in?"

Every breath moved the metal spike in Shiro's side and it caused a new flash of pain that was overriding his adrenaline before it even had a chance to begin its work. Shiro's arm trembled as he fought against the movement, but Mephisto was too strong and he found himself with a bloody blade in his peripheral vision. He scowled, clenching his teeth and setting his jaw as his breath became a tad bit shallower. Blood was beginning to drip down his side, staining the white cloth of his shirt.

"My reasons… are my own," Shiro replied stubbornly. "Maybe I'll tell you if you win." He smirked and dug his thumbnail into the bleeding wound. He paid no mind to the squelch of blood that swelled up around his digit.

"A bonus reward. How generous." Mephisto tightened his grip on the other's wrist, twisting it until the hold on the blade fell limp. The dagger dropped to the table. Mephisto made sure Shiro followed soon after. "I suppose I'll have to do my best to earn it." Towering over the body he'd pushed back, Mephisto felt a wicked curl of anticipation. Desire throbbed through him, but he was patient. As always, he had all the time in the world. Sliding his gaze off the exorcist, he brought up his bloodied arm, stared at the mess that had been made of his shirt, and _tsk'd. _

The next moment, he was pressing his mouth against the wound, his curved tongue dragging across his skin, licking his blood, sucking.

"Bleh," he said a moment later after having spat the liquid in his mouth to the side. His tongue burned. "Disgusting." His nose wrinkled. Green eyes focused back on the prone figure that was beginning to move.

Landing on his back had momentarily jarred the paladin as the needle in his side jostled with the movement. But Shiro was determined and he turned his head, searching for where the dagger had fallen. His hand was aching and it was hard to close his fingers but the moment he spotted it, balanced on the edge of the table, he reached out, the tips of his fingers barely brushing against the handle while Mephisto was distracted by his own wound.

As he shifted closer, Shiro winced, feeling the pendant dig deeper into his side of its own accord. His other hand was already riffling through a pouch as he snagged the dagger's handle between two of his fingers and began to pull it closer.

Mephisto watched on in amusement and didn't stop him—not yet. Instead, he took a step closer before shamelessly falling to his knees, right between the spread legs. His hands clamped around Shiro's calves and he tugged on them, dragging the body across the table and then leaning over it. His hand settled around Shiro's wrist again. "I am not too fond of daggers, I'll admit," the demon quipped, his breath dancing across the other's cheek. "Nasty things. Sharp." He leaned down until his mouth was pressed right against Shiro's ear. "Unpleasant," he whispered, closing the distance between them, dragging his razor-edged canines down the other's ear.

Shiro smirked derisively. His hand was caught again even though he'd successfully closed his fingers around the handle of the dagger. Once more, he tried to push against Mephisto's hold but as before, it was no use. He ignored the way his body convulsed lightly at the feeling of the fangs at his ear and instead, his left hand reached around and gripped the pendant in his side.

"I gotta say," he breathed as he pulled out the metal implement. "They're not exactly my favorite weapon either. But a gun isn't really meant for endurance." The wound was now bleeding freely and leaking through his coat as he reached up and stabbed it into Mephisto's side, mirroring his own wound.

The demon's body stilled, limbs seizing and threatening to jerk. Sharp fangs broke through the flesh of Shiro's ear, drawing blood. It was only when he pulled back that he drew in a hissed breath, discomforted. He could feel every inch of the metal needle piercing through his flesh.

Still, he chuckled. "Not your smartest move, Fujimoto-kun." Mephisto stared into Shiro's eyes, strands of purple hair hanging off each side, pulled down by gravity. "You'll bleed out on me like this." A quick grin, dangerous, promising. Shiro's blood stained his lips red and Mephisto made a show of wiping it away, lapping at it with his tongue, drinking the copper-like taste of the exorcist's life's essence.

Shiro let out a breathy chuckle. "You obviously don't know how stubborn I can be." The left side of his head was tight with pain but he paid it no mind. As he watched the demon lick his lips above him, his left hand was back in his pouch, pulling out the half-filled bottle of holy water.

"Now, I think it's time you let go." Shiro emptied the bottle over Mephisto's hand, the holy water soaking through the glove. He gripped the knife tightly in preparation for a next attack as the hissing of burning skin filled the air.

Green eyes contracted. The thick dark outline underneath the demon's eyes made his expression seem more sinister as they narrowed. Mephisto's hand shook but it continued to tighten around Shiro's wrist through the pain.

"_I refuse_," the demon hissed. In response, he bent down to capture the exorcist's lips with his own, suffocating, distracting. The exorcist tasted as bitter at his blood. Mephisto forced his way into his mouth, the aftertaste of cigarettes strong. It wasn't enough to make him forget the sharp sting soaking through his skin, but the rush of dominance was pleasant, the clash of wills exhilarating. Mephisto shifted his weight to his knees, ignored the corresponding ache at his waist, and with his free hand, he sneaked down to force Shiro's pants undone.

Shiro's body went rigid at the intrusion of the long thick tongue in his mouth. He could taste blood and a strange sweetness, but the kiss wasn't sweet in the least. The paladin abandoned the empty bottle and grabbed the pendant in Mephisto's side. He pulled it out halfway and drove it in again at a different angle as his teeth bit down on Mephisto's tongue.

A quiet shudder. Mephisto pulled away from the teeth, gnawing at Shiro's lips with a voracious hunger. Blood ran down the exorcist's lips, an overpowering metallic scent ill-matched with their childish surroundings. Mephisto could smell the scent of his own blood too, trickling down his side, soaking through the beige fabric of his clothes. Muscles clenched and screamed as the pendant dug back into him.

Below, his hand slipped under black clothes and intrusively curled around Shiro's limp member. He squeezed it, a light hold that was growing in pressure. The fabric of his gloves was rough against the sensitive skin, but Mephisto knew the ways of the body well, knew how easy it was to rile up a man, especially one whose adrenaline was already pumping vigorously.

Shiro hissed. A roaring fire had ignited in his stomach and he felt a deep disgust for the demon above him. His body was pounding with pain and heat and he could feel his wound bleeding further with each ragged breath. He was running on adrenaline now. The hand that had so firmly gripped the knife before was now trembling with weakness and he didn't know if it was due to the blood loss or the hand in his pants.

"Get… your hand…" The paladin growled through gritted teeth as he pulled out a new bottle of holy water and pulled the cap off with his teeth. He poured some in his own mouth and a mixture of blood and water was spat forward into Mephisto's face.

"_Off._" He finished with a snarl.

Mephisto's pulse quickened and while he managed to turn his head away to avoid most of the damage, his long ears were still well within range. The pale skin visibly hissed and peeled away, leaving raw flesh exposed. Droplets of holy water dripped down his neck, creating a similar result.

Oh, how he loathed this sensation.

"Charming," the demon drawled, his tone dry. He stared down at Shiro's lips, the red flesh taunting, slicked with clear poison that prevented him from closing the distance between them. "Also, not quite the reaction I was expecting. But if you insist…"

Mephisto's hand loosened its hold, but it wasn't Shiro's member that was released—no, it was Shiro's wrist. Brusque fingers tugged away the dagger in the exorcist's trembling grip, and soon, the same blade was dragged down Shiro's chest, cutting through the gap of the fabric and popping the buttons in its wake. All the while, Mephisto continued stimulating the firming flesh between his fingers, smirking.

Shiro hadn't expected his wrist to be released and thus, was unable to strike before the dagger was taken from his loose fingers. His head was beginning to spin and his body was heating up. He felt weakness settle deep in his bones and it was all he could do to press a hand against the wound on his side, trying to stop the bleeding through his coat.

He'd already lost enough, however, and he was well aware that he was running on fumes. The paladin's hand shuddered as he poured the remains of the holy water over his crotch. The cool water had a dual effect. One, it brought a bit of clarity back to his mind, dousing just a few of the flames. Second, the audible hiss of Mephisto's burning flesh was heard as Shiro discarded the empty bottle and moved to grab the hand that currently held his dagger. He tried to loosen the fingers, but his own grip was still too feeble.

Mephisto batted the hand away.

Now that Shiro's shirt was open, the demon casually tossed the blade aside, letting it clatter to the floor. The hand that had been working up Shiro's burgeoning erection had yet to let go, but the other… well.

"You've played a good game, Fujimoto-kun. I've thoroughly enjoyed it." Mephisto sat back on his heels now, undaunted. He stretched his neck to the side, showcasing the wound, feeling the pull and ache of it and the steady burn that followed as he ran a damp finger down it, the touch feather-light and considerate.

"It'll be a while until these burns heal, but luckily, the damage isn't quite visible." Mephisto continued jerking Shiro off, though the soggy cloth of his gloves created a rougher friction now. He mercilessly tightened his grip, unsympathetic, all the while never looking away from Shiro's face.

He brought his left hand up to his mouth. Lips pulled back, he tugged the glove off with the edge of his teeth. Skin that had been completely hidden was unveiled slowly, the cloth catching slightly as it was dragged off. Red, burnt flesh stood out, and beyond the fingertips, the shocking sight of black, impossibly long nails was revealed. Mephisto tossed the glove aside, in the same direction he'd thrown the dagger, and smiled. "_So_," he murmured. "Are you ready to give up?"

"Not a chance…" Shiro growled, but it was clear by his pallor that he was on his last ropes. His breaths were coming out ragged and heavy and he was pressing both his hands to the wound on his side. There was already a small puddle of blood underneath him. He strained, lifting his foot up and aiming a kick at Mephisto's shoulder but his head spun and he missed, the limb falling heavily back onto the table.

He had to get a hold of himself. There had to be a way to bring this back. _There's no chance._ A traitorous voice whispered in the back of his head. _It's over. Accept it._ Shiro grimaced, his body writhing helplessly under Mephisto's rough treatment. He still had one bottle of holy water left. He didn't know where his gun was.

The paladin pulled one hand off his wound and felt heavily around for his belt. His fingers were shaky and unsteady but he still persevered, opening the pouch and digging his fingers in. Even this, however, seemed like quite the ordeal.

"Oh, no. Won't be having any more of that." Mephisto pressed the bared digit of his index finger on top of Shiro's hand, his long, long nails digging into the skin, sliding forward and drawing a thin line of blood. Fingers closed loosely around the wrist and tugged the hand away from the belt.

"You should preserve your energy. You won't last much longer at this rate, so relax, give in." A rough jerk. Shiro's member was flushed pink, hard, the warm skin straining under his touch. "I'll make you feel good."

Without waiting for a response, Mephisto's left hand slid down to join the other. Oh, yes, did it feel good to feel the hot flesh quivering beneath his touch, the naked slide of his palm against it. A thrilled sensation swelled and expanded inside of the demon's chest and he quickly tugged off his other glove in the same manner as before, discarding it off to the side.

"Yes," he murmured, more to himself that to Shiro. "I'll make you feel very good," he promised, voice dark, hungry, all that calm demeanor he'd portrayed until now melting away to reveal this true nature.

It was all too easy now to tear away the obstacle before him. Sharp nails dug through the fabric of the exorcist's pants, shredding it apart. A sea of pale skin, ready to be touched, to be wrecked, stood out before him, all muscle and tension, and within moments, stained by red gashes made by his nails.

Shiro gave a gasping jolt, his body barely having enough strength to arch his back off the surface of the table. The pleasure was pushing a hot fog further into his mind while the pain of Mephisto's nails splitting his skin caused a cold and sharp clarity to his vision. White and red faded to black before white burst suddenly before his eyes. His head was spinning and he knew how it felt to be on the verge of passing out.

Still, he swung out his arm, weakly grabbing hold of Mephisto's sleeve. He was panting roughly and running on the pure willpower to stay lucid. But his blood was dripping off the table and the rest of it was rushing to his dick.

Shiro only lasted a few more seconds before he fell completely limp on the table's surface.

"Tsk. Oh, my," Mephisto muttered, but he'd been expecting this outcome. A snap of his fingers had Shiro's clothes off. A white cloth soaked in anesthetic flew through the air and tended to the wound on Shiro's side, wiping away the blood before pressing into the skin. It would do no good for the other to bleed to death under his watch.

As he let that sort itself out, Mephisto returned his attention to the leaking cock standing at attention. He dragged a delicate path down it with his nail, smirking at the reaction it caused despite its owner's unconscious state. He nudged Shiro's legs further apart with his knees and continued down that trail, past the soft, round flesh that quivered under his touch, until finally resting in between that thin gap, the hole revealed by the slight spread of the exorcist's ass.

"I do hope you'll come to by the time we get to the main event," the demon murmured, chuckling. And then, he got to work.

Shiro's body remained loose and pliant through the preparation though it was the rush of pain that jarred the paladin awake. His vision was purely white so even as his eyes widened behind his spectacles, he still couldn't see. His body was seizing up and the pain centered around his pelvis. His body trembled and threatened to pass out again but he gripped tight to lucidity, finding it easier to do this time around.

He blinked several times and when his vision returned, he was faced with a now familiar pair of haughty green eyes.

"Welcome back~"

By now, Mephisto's clothes had largely disappeared. He was naked save for his ridiculous pinstriped stockings and the crimson button-up shirt hanging open and torn at the sleeve. The exorcist pendant was no longer impaling his side, but the state of the wound was hidden from sight under the shirt.

"I was wondering when you'd come to. Have you regained all your bearings?" he asked casually, as if he wasn't pressing his nails into the exorcist's chest, as if he didn't have the entirety of his length slipping past the slick, tightening hole of Shiro's ass.

Shiro felt hot and tense. His breath was picking up, catching up to his aroused state. Still the pain of the nails pricking into his chest and the burning in his pelvis did their part to stave off the pleasure. Though not completely.

"I've been better." Shiro grunted through clenched teeth. His legs were trembling though he tried to move them anyway. They didn't budge more than an inch. It was worth a try. His hands, on the other hand, managed to curl around Mephisto's wrists, twisting roughly on the skin. "Enjoying yourself so far?" His tone was mockingly sweet as if he was a host questioning his guest on their stay.

"Oh, _yes_." Mephisto's answer was as cheerful as ever, thick like honey. The earlier break in his composure almost seemed like a dream—or a nightmare—were it not for the wicked look in his eyes and that accompanying self-satisfied smirk. "One can never grow tired of the human body. Fragile at times, but remarkably durable as well. Pliant." Mephisto's smirk widened as he pulled back, before just as slowly sliding back into that tight heat. "So easy to take." A chuckle. Black nails reached out despite the restrains to tease the half-risen nubs on Shiro's chest. The slow, delicate touch across the sensitive skin caused it to harden.

"To tempt," he breathed, eyes glowing, intent rising.

Shiro gasped raggedly, feeling Mephisto begin to move. And though he tried to stop his hands from moving, his strength was once again thwarted and the demon above him was able to manipulate his body as he pleased. He tilted his head back and his legs bent slightly. The pain was slowly numbing out and the fingers on his chest weren't helping.

"Usually you'd… ha…" The paladin panted, his tongue thick in his mouth as arousal pushed back his shame. He was a man who hadn't had sex in a while and this was a twisted breath of fresh air. "You usually… have to ask… permission…" Shiro grunted as the demon's length inside of him became less and less painful.

He was at odds with himself, balancing on the tip of a blade. On one hand, this demon had forced him down, something Shiro did not take too well. On the other hand… _Fuck that feels good…_

Mephisto smirk made it seem as if he could read his thoughts.

"How rude. Are you saying I did not?" the demon countered then, his voice infuriatingly smooth. He leaned forward until he was draped across the exorcist's body, each movement as deliberate as his thrusts.

"We've made a deal, did we not? This is all part of the game, Fujimoto-kun." Propping himself on one elbow allowed him to grab Shiro's thigh and lift it. He made a wreck of the back of all that untouched skin as his claws dug into it. A pleased moan escaped his throat. So close to Shiro's ear now, he caught a stronger scent of the exorcist's blood—dried now—and he leaned over the short gap to reopen the wound, biting the flesh teasingly.

The paladin gasped and groaned as he felt the pricks and scratches behind his thigh. He let out a tense curse under his breath and gripped the collar of Mephisto's shirt. "Point taken…" Shiro grunted as he pulled back on the collar. "But try not to… pierce my ear…" His toes were curling with the sensations that were assaulting him. The pain at his ear and his thigh mounted with the deep, heated pleasure that was pulsing in his hips left him panting raggedly.

Shiro opened his eyes and decided then that he wouldn't be passive in this game. He leaned his head up and took Mephisto's pointed ear into his mouth, biting it roughly as he dug his nails into the demon's arm. His other hand still kept a firm hold on the crimson shirt.

Mephisto's breath shuddered hotly over Shiro's ear. _Annoying, _he thought, grimacing at the rough sensation aggravating the already torn skin of his sensitive ear. In either compliance or revenge, Mephisto's tongue lapped the wound on Shiro's own and thrust in deeply, picking up in force if not yet velocity. "Your arrogance knows no bounds," Mephisto muttered, both impressed and derisive. "You've completely lost this game and still you struggle?"

Beneath him, Shiro's body shook with equal parts pleasure and defiance. There was something exquisite about the combination. Mephisto could hear every tremor of the exorcist's heart as easily as he could hear his own. The body tightened every time he entered it, allowing him to consume—to enjoy it—with as much delight as he would a soul or a rare, eccentric candy.

_But for how long will your resistance last? _Mephisto grinned at the thought. Then, with all the silver-tongued wickedness he'd been born with, he taunted the other, his voice every bit as persuasive as one would expect of a demon.

"_Just give in_," he purred lowly.

Shiro's jaw loosened and released Mephisto's ear. The words sank into him like a curl of heat and he felt a weightlessness in his mind. Why not? Why shouldn't he give in? Every thrust Mephisto gave him felt good so how wrong was it to simply lay back and enjoy it? The paladin let out a provocative moan as the demon pushed into him again. His back arched and he was sure his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. The hand on Mephisto's shirt which had been pulling the demon away was now tugging him closer and Shiro's gaze was slightly unfocused.

_No! Get a hold of yourself!_ The exorcist released the shirt and shoved his knuckle into his mouth. He bit down hard, the pain providing much needed clarity to his mind. Shiro glared straight at Mephisto and grabbed hold of his hair. "I am_ not…_ a toy…" he rumbled under shaking breaths.

_**Wrong**_**.** The word sprung from within the depths of his mind like an ingrained instinct. Mephisto's body shook with laughter.

"Is that so?" he said instead, smiling. The hand on his hair was annoying, but it was also woefully out of reach. Mephisto shifted his weight and at least managed to tug away the hand covering Shiro's mouth, revealing that sullen, gasping mouth. Mephisto leaned down to kiss him.

_Silly, wonderfully human defiance. Hanging on to every last thread of your pride even now. If not a toy, then what are you? Who are you, Shiro Fujimoto? _

Mouths melded together, Mephisto's tongue was just as invasive as it had been during their first kiss. There were no traces of holy water left anymore, which allowed him to plunder the wet cavern without fear of injury. The thrusts picked up their pace. There was no need to prolong the inevitable. Mephisto felt pleased with this man, ridiculously so. He hadn't meant someone this resilient in centuries. The scale was unbalanced, that was unsurprising considering their positions, but there was something about this exorcist that intrigued him.

On the surface, the paladin seemed like a reckless, prideful man. As sharp-tongued as he was foolish. And yet, what lay at the heart of the man? What secrets was he hiding? What strengthened the resolve that refused to bend under a Demon Prince's will?

Mephisto looked forward to finding out.

The sweetness of the tongue in his mouth was not entirely unwelcome this time around and Shiro felt heat blossom in his gut. He clenched and loosened the hand that was captured by Mephisto's strong grip as he grasped tighter to the demon's violet colored hair. As his body trembled, he knew that the fight was over. But he would not passively take it. He was not a plaything. He wasn't a doll or a puppet. The fight was over.

It was time now to play along.

Shiro pushed his tongue into the demon's mouth, returning the kiss fiercely. With the remainder of his strength, he lifted his leg again and arched his back to press himself closer. _Come on then._ The paladin tugged the demon closer by his hair. _Come on._ _The game isn't over. Not by a long shot._

Sweet delight curled in Mephisto's stomach, the rush of heat heading all the way down to his groin. The battle of wills continued, resistance giving away to challenge—a challenge Mephisto responded to with equal passion. Tongues glided against each other, a slick tango that grew in urgency as Shiro pulled him closer. Mephisto moved to do the same then, tugging Shiro's leg higher by hooking it on the crook of his arm. The position pulled at Shiro's injury, but it also let him hit that precious spot more firmly than ever.

Shiro let out a groan of pain that dissolved into one of desire. As Mephisto's thrusts picked up, it was harder not to just lay back and take it. The pain and pleasure swirled together until it was an unknown and powerful sensation that had his cock twitching for more. But he persevered. He tightened his body around Mephisto's thrusts and twisted the hand still captured by the demon. He wasn't able to speak but he grunted insistently into the kiss and pulled at his hand, hoping Mephisto would get the message. He was close. He could feel it. Shiro focused on that.

Mephisto tightened his grip on the other but broke away from the kiss—as always, every move as calculated and as theatric as he desired. Teeth grazed Shiro's lips, running down his jaw, settling on his neck. He pressed a light kiss there.

"What's the matter?" The smirk on the demon's lips, pressed against the sweaty skin, said he knew what was up. His words confirmed it in a second. "Craving for more? All you have to do is ask," he murmured. It was the devil's voice, as always eager to make their prey crumble.

Shiro tilted his head a bit, shivering at the feel of sharp teeth against his neck. Still, he smirked at Mephisto's words and chuckled lightly. "Oh, you'd like that… wouldn't you?" He leaned his head up, his tongue catching the lobe of the pointed ear.

Mephisto shivered.

"How long are you… planning on making this last…" Shiro turned his head, his chin pressing against the demon's cheek as he breathed heavily against his skin. The paladin's ribs were already hurting with the amount of desperate breaths he'd taken in, but with his weakness and the way Mephisto continued thrusting into him, a normal breathing pattern seemed far off.

"Impertinent," the demon huffed in response. _Stubborn to the very end_, he thought, smirk widening.

It didn't take long then, not with Mephisto so intent in making the body beneath him reach that point where thoughts and defiance had no place. He took pleasure in every gasp and moan he dragged from the other, felt his own breath falter as Shiro continued to match him, every bit as bold and arrogant as he had been when he'd met him. Every loss he'd suffered in their game of wills only seemed to strengthen him, and Mephisto felt enthralled by the prospect of this man.

Orgasm was too small word to describe the experience the two shared when their bodies finally surrendered. No matter how hot, how carnal and desperately hungry the meeting of their flesh was, it was the very core of their selves that experienced that rise and crash of otherworldly pleasure.

Shiro's hand released Mephisto's hair and fell limp onto the table. His breathing was finally reaching a slower pace as he registered the mess on and within him. However, he was much too tired at the moment to care. He hadn't had a good fucking like that in a long while. It was definitely something to remember. Though he wouldn't be telling the demon that to his face.

"How are you feeling?" Shiro asked with a smirk. "Hope I didn't tire… you out too bad."

Mephisto let out a muffled, affronted noise. His long, thin limbs supported the weight of his body without a trace of a tremor. Still, Shiro could feel the thin layer of sweat on the demon's forehead which was now conveniently buried into the gray hair.

"You're a mouthy, impudent man," Mephisto groused. Definitely no dog. This arrogance and recklessly prideful demeanor could only belong to a lion.

With a haughty sniff, the demon disentangled himself from the other and rolled aside, but by the time his back hit the table, their surroundings changed again. Another room, same outlandish décor, but the furniture was at least tasteful, with an aristocratic flair that was only ruined by the piles of manga scattered across the floor in neat, towering piles.

Dressed in a light pink yukata, Mephisto leaned back comfortably on the purple silk pillows at the head of his large Western-style bed, looking every bit as smug and at ease as he had been when they'd first met.

Meanwhile, Shiro found himself deposited on the floor. His clothes, every last article clean and undamaged, promptly fell on top of his head.

"Oof!" Shiro let out a sound of surprise when his face was suddenly covered by clothes. He lifted the bundle and sighed a bit, taking in their change of environment. He pushed himself into a sitting position, letting out a groan of pain. His side, though it had long since stopped bleeding, was still aching as well his hips and ass, for obvious reasons, of course.

"Well, aren't you a gracious host," Shiro muttered as he stood up with the help of his hand on the edge of the bed he found himself next to. He pulled on his underwear and pants before buckling his belt on and leaning against the bedpost with a sigh.

The paladin reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a box of cigarettes. "Hope ya don't mind," he muttered as more of a warning than a request. He placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with a lighter from his pocket, taking a deep drag.

Mephisto's nose wrinkled in distaste.

"It _stinks_." The demon snapped his fingers and several things happened. First, a stack of papers appeared in midair, hovering in front of Shiro along with a fancy-looking pen. Second, a steaming cup of tea found its way into Mephisto's burnt hands. Finally, Shiro's gun, previously unaccounted for, materialized on Mephisto's nightstand, right under a potted _Jubokko _the size of a bonsai tree.

"If you have any desire in getting your gun back, you'll snuff that out immediately," the demon said in his driest tone after taking a sip of his tea.

Shiro leaned his head back, spotting his gun under the bloodthirsty plant and sighed, a small cloud of smoke accompanying his exhale. Still, he let the cigarette hang from his lips and snapped his fingers twice. "Well I don't have anywhere to snuff it out on. Unless you want me to drop this on your pretty floor, which I doubt. Ashtray."

Mephisto's eyes narrowed at the motion. "I am neither a dog nor a servant. My magic serves only one master and—" Noticing a trickle of ash falling from the end of the cigarette, he quickly snapped his fingers, making an ashtray appear right on time to catch the falling ash. It rose up until it was at chest-level with Shiro.

Saying nothing of the fact, Mephisto took another sip of his tea and watched with satisfaction as the hovering pen began to angrily jab the exorcist's bare chest.

"Now, if you could fulfill the end of your bargain and sign your renewed contract…?" Mephisto smiled sweetly.

Shiro grinned as the ashtray appeared and he obediently snuffed out the cigarette, though not before taking one more drag. He twisted the stub and batted away the pen before taking the pages into his hands. "Yeah, yeah. Give me a second. I'd like to know if I'm signing away more than my job and my ass." He plucked the pen out of the air and sat on the edge of the bed, skimming through the words on the page.

"Indefinite amount of time…" Shiro raised his eyebrow, repeating the phrase he'd paused on. He turned his head. "I know you said for as long as you choose, but can I get a ballpark figure?"

Mephisto stared. Better said, he watched Shiro closely, curiosity burning in his eyes.

That casual, insubordinate way of addressing him hadn't changed, but the paladin's previous cold, high-strung demeanor had faded away.

_Fufufu, an interesting human has certainly fallen into my lap…_

Whereas before the exorcist had been rash in his decisions, now he smiled a demon's smile, baiting flies with honey instead of vinegar as he played with the hand he had been dealt.

Was it such a shock to see the change? When a man loses a game, he's presented with two choices—to accept defeat, or to struggle to overcome it. It was this adaptability that Mephisto had grown to love in humans. That strength of character was a nectar to a hell-raiser like him, bent on causing mischief by playing with the hearts of people.

As Mephisto stared at Shiro then, he saw a man ready to play the long-game, to match him step for step in a continuous battle of wits, wills, and dominance.

_The nerve,_ Mephisto thought as a thrill ran through him.

Finally, he answered him.

"Does a dog ask its master for how long to run, or does he simply chase after the ball without question? If you desire a ballpark, Fujimoto-kun, I'll be more than glad to lead you to one for as many times as needed."

Shiro chuckled lightly, a wide smirk on his lips. "You seem to be under the impression that I need a leash." He turned back to the pages and after another quick glance through, he propped them against his knee and signed his name readily and without hesitation.

"You might want to look into purchasing a muzzle instead." He turned and lay on his stomach, holding out the contract for him as he sported a toothy smile.

Mephisto took the papers and held the other's gaze with a faint smirk of his own. "What a tempting proposal, but I prefer not to mix private and public affairs."

He set the papers aside. Shiro's gun rose from the table and silently attached itself back where to it belonged, on Shiro's holster.

"Well, Fujimoto-kun, it's been a real _pleasure_ to meet you." The demon raised his cup to him, his smirk broadening into a full-on grin. "I hope our future dealings end up being just as agreeable."

Shiro leaned his chin on his hand, his elbow digging into the plush sheets. His eyes didn't leave Mephisto's face as the gun floated itself back to his holster inside his coat that still lay on the floor.

"Gotta say, Pheles—" He paused and then let out a hum of thought. "Pheles." He said the name slower, dragging out the syllables just a bit. Shiro then grinned. "Mephisto." He nodded resolutely and stood from the bed, picking up his shirt and coat, placing the latter where he had just laid.

"Gotta say, Mephisto," he continued his previous statement with the new name. "If I'm being honest, I have to agree. Though I wouldn't mind a couple changes once in a while."

Mephisto's eyebrow delicately rose at the words, his gaze glittering as he silently watched the other begin to dress.

Shiro buttoned up his shirt, shrugged on his coat, buttoning that up as well before fastening the final belt on his hips. He pulled out another cigarette before placing the box into his pocket. He didn't light it yet and simply let it hang from his lips.

Shiro held his side as it started aching again, agitated by the clothes rubbing against it. "Like no stabbing. That'd be nice," he griped.

Mephisto chuckled.

Shiro shot the other a smirk before walking around the bed, patting Mephisto's thigh through the blankets briefly. "Well, I'll be heading off now. See ya." He stepped back and tapped the pile of papers that made up his contract with his index finger twice.

There, under his signature, was a phone number. Shiro headed out the door without looking back.


End file.
